Westering Home
by Hito
Summary: Christopher returns to Stars Hollow after the baby is born. Lorelai/Christopher.
1. Architecture of the Spirit

Author's Note: Gilmore Girls Improv #15. Pre-L/C, TBC. Maybe.   
  
*  
  
When Lorelai sleeps, she sometimes slips into dreams, and it's always a wrench when she falls out of them, briefly waking to the unreality of her awkward limbs sliding over her cotton sheets before she disappears again.   
  
  
In her dreams, the sheets are satin, an indulgence she purchases off Anna every Saturday afternoon. She can't afford silk - clothes and make-up are far more necessary than bed linen.   
  
  
Sometimes she's alone in the bed, but more often she's not. She prefers it when she's not. She thinks of the strangest things when he's with her: a history teacher whose face she can't remember, the colour of her mother's nail polish, the cold stone of the front doorstep. And when things get hazy, and she can't focus on anything but the memory of a feeling, her head tilts back and she stares at the walls of her bedroom, at the sliver of wall to the left of the door, the curved corner where it meets the ceiling. It's shockingly vivid; it reminds her that this was real, and in that moment it's the most important thing in her world, that little curve of plaster, even while he's moving over her.   
  
She always wakes up, then. And she knows they're dreams while she's walking them, but she chooses to do it anyway, and she can't tell herself it's not a choice even when she's awake.   
  
*  
  
The droplets ricocheted sharply off the ground; it looked like it should have stung to step outside, but the rain was a soft, seeping wetness. The rush of water echoed until it was bouncing off the walls in Lorelai's mind, pervasive, overwhelming, and she hovered in the doorway until Rory prodded her out.   
  
  
They ran through the midnight blue of the morning, shaking themselves off as they climbed into the Jeep, and they'd been soaked to the skin in six seconds. It took two tries before the engine would turn over.   
  
  
Chilton didn't, really, look anything like Lorelai remembered. She knew that not a particle of the place had changed, that every winter the leaves fell from the trees in pre-approved order, but she felt four feet taller, and the change in perspective was astonishing, made everything seem different. Still, she had yet to rid herself of the ghosts that inhabited her bones every time she traced her steps back. You weren't supposed to do that, and the double vision was dizzying.   
  
  
Rory ran up the steps happily, eager to get in some time at the newspaper before classes started. Lorelai burned rubber. Her day didn't improve.   
  
  
It rained all week, and eventually, through sheer force of will, it became a comfort instead of an annoyance. It rained on Friday night, as they waited too long for the maid to open the door. A new one, Theresa, close to Rory's age. She smiled nervously up at them from under her eyelashes and kept glancing from Lorelai to the closed dining-room door. Lorelai made straight for it.   
  
  
Her mother emerged before she had a chance to burst in, and made straight for her. "Thank you, Therese. Lorelai, a moment."   
  
  
Rory wandered behind, not sure if her grandmother would allow her to join them. Lorelai pulled her arm from her mother's grasp. "What, Mom? Another set-up you're afraid I'll eviscerate?"   
  
  
"Not precisely, no. We do have an extra guest for dinner tonight. It's Christopher."   
  
"Chris." It was like a blow to the head, or the stomach. The heart. They hadn't seen him for months, and how dare he?   
  
"Yes. I thought you and Rory would like it."   
  
"Has he been telling stories about puking babies? Because I know from experience that nobody wants to hear those."   
  
"He's moving back to Hartford. I thought it would be a good idea to do something to welcome him."   
  
Moving. Here. Her. Chris. Lorelai's brain was leaning aggressively towards the monosyllabic, but this was her mother. "That sounds like a good idea. I hope you had Anna sharpen the steak knives. I'm sure you'll need them. Uh, he's coming back?"   
  
"Yes. Things weren't going well with Shirley."   
  
"Sherry."   
  
"That woman, yes. So he has decided to return to his parents' home. I sincerely hope that it won't be for long. A man of that age - it doesn't look well, even if it is just sitting there. Are either of you going to break down in tears?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well, your father suggested that I inform you of this privately, so that you wouldn't have a break down in front of Christopher. Are you going to?"   
  
Lorelai was aware of Rory gaping off to the side, could see the questions building, ready to spill from her lips. "Don't have plans for it."   
  
"I'm very glad to hear that. I knew your father was over-estimating your over-reaction. Let's go and join them. They're waiting for us."   
  
Emily tucked Rory's arm through her own, and strode back towards the dining-room. Towards Christopher, who was coming back. Lorelai hustled to catch up, and tried to look less bamboozled than she felt. He wasn't supposed to - this wasn't supposed to happen to her. After everything else. She shouldn't have - she didn't know how to deal with this. Didn't know what to do.   
  
And the door was open and they were moving forwards, and she was smiling, and Christopher was smiling back at her. She didn't know what to do.   
  
Rory wanted to bounce. Lorelai could tell. But she was just offering a cautious grin, made wary by past experience. Christopher had never delivered on what he appeared to promise. Rory knew the pain of that, and so did she.   
  
That gave her the ability to navigate the doorway, not to walk into her daughter, or her chair. She didn't feel helpless anymore, and her legs were steady under her.   
  
Christopher had risen as they entered, and he came around the table as she was absolutely useless, if completely in control. Rory was closest, and got a bear hug. A second later, Lorelai was the recipient of a more restrained welcome. A hand on her shoulder, a peck on the cheek, and they were face-to-face. She had sort of expected him to be toting the kid the next time she saw him, and didn't know what to do without the buffer. And her parents were here, and she wanted to scream at him, hadn't stopped wanting to scream at him since he had told her, and Rory was watching them, and-Chris. Chris.   
  
"It's great to see you. Both of you." He swung to face his daughter. "Rory, you look-" A laugh that sounded more real-fatherly than he had any right to be, after a couple weeks of being one to another girl. "Older. Unfortunately."   
  
That strained the smile. "That's what happens." And then, "I might stop it too, if I could," and she had to talk to Rory, but she couldn't concentrate on that now, when Chris might demand something of her any second and she had to be ready for it.   
  
"If the Welles were here we could stave this off." Directed at her, and a grunt was enough of an answer, because her mother was saving her.   
  
"Next Saturday. You should come along. You'll need to become reacquainted with the families around here. You haven't kept in contact with anyone, have you?"   
  
Emily sitting as she spoke, the familiar pattern of dinner setting in, and Christopher was following his hostess' lead, glancing reluctantly towards her and Rory, towards whatever joyful reunion he had imagined.   
  
Everybody fell into place like dominoes, and Lorelai had found her footing now, even if the carpet was liable to be pulled out from under her.   
  
More talk, about things that didn't matter, people that hadn't mattered to them back when they had mattered to each other, and everybody was putting up a good face. She wondered who was truly on show. Not her father, even, and she'd begun to think her mother had erected a permanent façade, to fool people into thinking that she wasn't poised to take over the world.   
  
She'd have to-Christopher would jump at that image, and she needed something to distract them from each other.   
  
And he was talking to her mother as if it was perfectly natural, as if it wasn't a problem at all; not something that he had to work at, like she was, like she did all the time. She could hate him for that, if it wouldn't take more effort than she was capable of.   
  
Rory was looking at her anxiously, willing, though not ready, to forgive her father, to rebuild what he had destroyed. She should have the chance to do that. She would. Lorelai would-she would try to make that happen, try to, somehow, make her daughter happy with her father. And even if she couldn't do anything, she wouldn't hinder them.   
  
Looking at him look at her as he spoke seriously to her mother, she could feel herself sinking into his eyes, feel sound on the verge of fading out, feel her attention drift to his smiling mouth, and it had been eighteen fucking years; she could do this.   
  
And she did. For the rest of the night.   
  
Even when, after everybody escaped from Emily's dinner and she wandered past Rory's room and found herself entering her own and flopping down on the bed that had surely, please, been updated in two decades, he found her.   
  
Even when he flopped down beside her, completely at home, and the years ratcheted down until she had to remind herself of Rory's existence.   
  
The decoration had changed, but she could still walk this room in her sleep. She didn't want Christopher to be here.   
  
"We broke up."   
  
It took her a moment to come up with the name. "I'm sorry." She didn't want to ask; she didn't want to know, because that meant that she'd have to think about him like that, and it wasn't like she needed to be encouraged to hurtle towards disaster.   
  
"Definitely. Very definitely. It was-it's a mess."   
  
She felt that she should offer comfort here, but it looked like history was set on repeat mode, except it was worsening year by year.   
  
"I'm going to have to go to court. To see Gwen."   
  
That was a shock. Lorelai couldn't imagine trying to keep Rory's father out of the picture. They had never been like that; he'd just drifted, and never attempted to swim against the tide. He had never- But she suddenly wondered, with a dull, burning pain, if he would have done this for Rory, if he would have forced his way into her life if Lorelai had only tried to exclude him.   
  
"You're going to visit?"   
  
"I'm going to try for joint."   
  
Lorelai blinked, taken aback again. Custody battles had never really registered with her, as she'd never known anybody involved in one; but this seemed like an incredibly bad idea, not least because the father concerned was Christopher. She felt ashamed even to think that, but he'd yet to be anything close to a responsible parent. Maybe getting up nights had altered his brain chemistry permanently.   
  
"Good luck."   
  
"You don't think Rory will be weird, do you?"   
  
She relocated the ability to flip onto her side. Affronts conjured energy from air, apparently. "Weird?"   
  
"About Gwen. I mean, she's never had to deal with a sibling. I'm worried she might have difficulty with it."   
  
"Chris, Rory still has difficulty dealing with you. I don't think she's going to take out her frustrations on a defenceless little baby."   
  
"What difficulty?"   
  
Another sigh, and she wouldn't have to look at him if she was on her back. The thought seemed to come into being without action; she really didn't want to look at him. "You have to know that you messed with her head. With both of our heads. She's accepted that you're not going to be around. It might take some work to convince her that changing that's a good thing."   
  
She could hear cloth slide as he moved closer to her. "You think it's a good thing though, right?"   
  
A second's hesitation, and she rushed in as he drew breath. "I'll help you with Rory. You'll have to do it completely on your own, but hey, you can count on my help."   
  
"I'm not even going to attempt to live up to your standard of perfection. Does she expect-"   
  
"Well you've never seen me make pancakes. Luke had to repaint the ceiling. It's gloss now. Looks awful."   
  
"And you'll show me what to do?"   
  
He couldn't possibly think it would be that easy. And maybe she could understand Sherry after all, because she couldn't help feeling that it would be best if he stayed away. "I'll point out all your mistakes. After you've made them, of course."   
  
His face was right next to hers, and she couldn't help turning towards him. His eyes were warm, still looking at hers, and his voice was sarcastic but he was gentle. "Thanks so much."   
  
He didn't look away, and she could feel the embers, the remembered desire, flare and ignite. She couldn't hold his gaze. "So, your parents?"   
  
"Will at some stage be coming home to make sure that I'm not trashing the place. Scary, huh?"   
  
"Terrifying." How could he do this to them?   
  
"I just need someplace to stay for a while."   
  
And she'd said she wouldn't ask, but- "Shouldn't you stay near Sherry? So you can see the baby."   
  
"It's better this way, I think. Things are really bad between us. I think it's best to avoid all that."   
  
Which was fair enough, she supposed, if somewhat extreme. Christopher probably just still couldn't deal with break-ups. She didn't do so well with them herself.   
  
The ceiling was getting boring, and her brain-cells were swirling down the drain at an alarming rate. She hauled herself up, and looked down at Christopher sprawled out on the bed. She stood.   
  
"I should go find Rory. She's not convinced that Mom's Lucifer's handmaiden yet, and I'm not convinced that it's safe to leave them alone together. Rory is easily convinced to scheme."   
  
She turned back at the door. "Chris, Rory will be okay with Gwendolyn. She'll like having a little sister." Rory would love having a sister. Especially one that wouldn't wake her every night.   
  
And she had left Rory too long, so she didn't waste time looking back as she left.   
  
*  
  
Sometimes, she doesn't care that she's inventing a world that no longer exists. She doesn't pay attention to her surroundings, completely unimportant, just something to hold them in place. She focuses on his hands tracing her skin, concentrates to make herself breathe as he maps her body, and as they surge together she thinks that she'll finally be able to anchor herself.   
  
And when she wakes up, it's only a jolt when she finds that he isn't there. 


	2. That Old Thin Ache

Author's Note: Gilmore Girls Improv #20. 'Westering Home' is a Bernard O'Donoghue poem, and belongs to him. Both chapter titles are taken from the poem. May turn into mild Rory/Paris. You have been warned. 

*

Lorelai had never thought that the polite suppression of emotion was a virtue, and it certainly wasn't one of which she was possessed. That made the situation she found herself in slightly more awkward than she had anticipated. 

Christopher had been back a handful of weeks and most of the time it felt like he'd never left. Sometimes, though, it felt like he'd never returned, and that was scary and close enough to true that she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn't. 

There was too much that she had to remind herself of, too many variations of the truth to keep track of. Christopher was always around her, always distracting her, even when he wasn't. Like now. 

A weekend back with Sherry and Gwen, and Lorelai still couldn't get him out of her mind. She had enough to do remembering that he wasn't supposed to be there, so it wasn't surprising, but it was still depressing her. 

It was starting to show. She'd been too brusque with Michel, enough that he was actually offended rather than just generally despairing; the friendliness deployed to throw Emily off the scent wasn't working; and Rory knew something was wrong. Lorelai had been the recipient of too many worried looks lately. 

"I wish I could have gone with Dad." 

Snapped out of Neverland, Lorelai blinked. "Sorry. Head. Clouds, cumulus. Uh, what was that?" 

Rory's pen was tracing aimlessly over the new stationery. The loops and whorls were pretty, but Lorelai didn't think they required that much attention. Rory wasn't working this year, but she needed the money, Lorelai had been in need of a distraction, and she'd thought there was something Rory wanted to talk to her about. Probably was, because they'd both been sitting there brooding at nothing for the past hour. 

And Lorelai was still brooding, but at least it was about something new. 

"I wish I'd gone with Dad. I mean, I know I couldn't, but I want to see Gwen." 

"And miss getting paid to doodle—" Lorelai grabbed the pad. "Ah, a heart. Want to fill in those initials?" 

"Not as such." 

"I've gotten that you're over Jess but I've somehow missed the identity of the new kid on the block." 

"There is no new kid." 

"Then what's wrong with you?" 

"Nothing." Rory snatched at the pad half-heartedly. Lorelai tossed it back. 

"Fine." 

Empty minutes passed. The tapping of a pen irritated Lorelai, and she was about to ask Rory to knock it off when she realised that it was in her own hand. She wished the end was chewable. 

"It's just—" 

"It's not 'just' if you're stopping." 

"No." Rory sighed, her eyes sliding away from Lorelai. They were focused inward, still bright. "How do you know when to—no, I've left Jess. This is so difficult." Guilt lurked on the edges of her words. "You were very brave to leave Dad. When you were having me, I mean. Obviously, that's what I meant. How did you do that? How did you tell Grandma and Grandpa?" 

Rory was leaning towards Lorelai, complete attention given, frighteningly intense eyes watching for a reaction, and this couldn't be taken lightly. Rory had been too serious for too long, and Lorelai had to know what was going on if she was going to make it better. 

"If you're pregnant tell me now." 

"Oh." Rory blinked in surprise, and the moment passed. "I'm not pregnant. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this. I should just figure it out on my own." 

Lorelai would beg to disagree, and was about to do so, without the begging, when the phone rang. 

"Hello, Independence Inn." 

"When did you start forwarding your calls?" 

Chris. "I didn't. I'm really at home, Rory's covering. I pay her a pittance and make her skip school unless she's got a test. It works out well for me." 

"Well talking to you will work for me." If she had been at home this would be like one of his old scheduled phone calls to Rory, when he'd called Lorelai to tell her that he wasn't going to be able to keep to schedule. "I just called to say that I won't be back tomorrow. Rory was supposed to come over after school, and she can't." Just like. "Or she could. She should run up the telephone bill. My parents are paying." 

"You know that Rory isn't me, don't you?" There were no servants in Christopher's house. Lorelai hadn't known that Rory had a key. "Maybe I'll take advantage of that offer, though. I have acquaintances in Australia that I haven't spoken to in at least five years." 

"You do that." 

She would have done it at Rory's age. Chris probably wouldn't mind if she did it now. "So why aren't you coming back?" 

Too many times he'd left and not come back and she was listening to his voice and had no idea what he'd said. "Sorry?" 

"I'm just staying for an extra day or two." Still low and happy, warm and amused now as well. "I think I'm making progress here, and it'd be a shame to let the chance go." 

"What progress?" The kind that would remind her exactly why she'd stopped trusting him? And that wasn't true, not really, but it was almost as close to honesty as an echo and pain cast shadows that never really left, night or noon. 

"The kind that would not require endless court appearances. And that's always a good thing, right?" 

"Absolutely. You'll have to deal with Sherry for the rest of your life. No point making it more difficult than it has to be." Lorelai hadn't been trying to make things difficult. It never would have worked out if they'd gotten married. They would have ended up hating each other. She would have hated him. She'd known that. 

"Deal with her? Did you deal with me?" 

Endlessly. "Do you see me ignoring you?" 

"I would have liked to think there was a little more between us than obligation. Do you want to ignore me?" 

"No. No, Chris, of course not." 

He still looked younger in her mind than he was in reality, but she could picture the look on his face exactly. Knew the precise pattern of his retreat when she hurt him, knew what his silences meant. 

"You know that's not true, Chris. I've always wanted you in our lives." 

"In Rory's life, you mean." 

"No—" He hadn't even managed that. She'd thought he would. She'd thought there would be time for them later. "You can't get us as separates." 

"You wanted me to though, didn't you?" Didn't know, she didn't know, never had, still couldn't— "Well. Tell Rory I won't be there. I'll see you when I get back." 

The receiver was in its cradle before the pain hit. Stupid, unnecessary pain, because she hadn't done anything, and he hadn't either, and a decision made so long ago shouldn't hold so much power. Nothing had changed, and things shouldn't still be so wrong. Everything she'd done had been to make things right. 

"What did he want?" 

"Just to tell you that he's not going to be back in time for tomorrow." He shouldn't still be able to make her feel like she had the first time she'd left him. The only time. Like all the breath had been wrenched from her body and she had no idea how to get it back and it wasn't her fault. "You know that you can still tell me anything, right? About your dad, even." 

"I know." 

And Chris couldn't keep expecting so much from her, because she couldn't do it. She didn't even know what it was that he wanted her to do, but she knew that she couldn't. He'd always had too much faith in her, and he'd never purposefully thrown more at her than she could handle, but she just didn't have it in her anymore. 

"Because you haven't been. You haven't been telling me anything at all." 

Rory sighed, and she wasn't supposed to sound that weary. Lorelai tried so hard; Rory wasn't allowed to sound like that. 

"I know. I have really, I've told you everything important. About Dad. It's just hard sometimes. It's not even hard, it's just—" And daughters weren't allowed to assess their mothers. "—Weird." 

Rory went back to her scribbling, leaving Lorelai to her brooding, and Rory was getting paid to restrain Lorelai from that very thing, not to indulge in it herself. 

"You're fired." 

"Does that mean I get to go home?" 

"Yes. No." 

There was always a chance that the boredom would grow so overwhelming that Rory would just give it up to have something to do. Rory shrugged and stared mournfully ahead, attempting to appear as if she could be productive if the need arose. Lorelai tried to think about Rory, but her brain was stuck on the same old track and wasn't exiting any time soon. 

"Do you ever want to get back together with Dean?" 

Rory blinked. Lorelai supposed it was a bizarre question to zoom out of nowhere. 

"Uh, no." 

"Okay." Rory'd moved on at least once since then, and there was no reason she'd wake up one day and discover she'd been having herself on. "What about Jess?" 

"What about him?" 

"Do you ever regret—" Rory was amused, trying not to smile. Lorelai cocked her head suspiciously. "Why did you break up with him?" 

"It seemed like the thing to do." 

"Why did it seem so?" 

"And I haven't regretted it, so it must have been." 

"What makes you think you can blatantly ignore my questions?" 

"What makes you think you can get me to answer them?" 

Once, Rory wouldn't have considered withholding the information. Once, Lorelai wouldn't have had to ask; she would have known. "Because you're nice? You love your mother, don't you, Rory?" 

"I've been told I need a harder head. Do you?" 

"Love my mother?" 

"Regret it." 

"That you dumped Jess? Eh." 

"Mm. That wasn't what I meant. Good to know, though. Why isn't Dad coming back?" 

"He's just staying a few extra days to try and work things out with Sherry." She didn't regret leaving Christopher. If she had, she'd be making more of an effort now. It wouldn't matter even if she did, because nothing had materially changed in the years since, and if it hadn't by now it never would. 

"Work out what?" 

"The whole thing with the baby where he needs to see it and she doesn't want him to. Remember that thing?" If it kept not working out between them, if he couldn't make it work with Sherry, it would never be right. Never. She knew that. But she really wished there'd been some seismic shift to let her know that she'd made the right decision. 

"I remember." 

She wished she felt like the decision had been made. "You know he's not going to drop everything and go running back to—" 

"His real family?" 

"Rory. You know that's not true. If it was, he wouldn't have bothered phoning, would he?" Pathetic, to measure a father's devotion with such things, but it was the only ammunition Lorelai had. "He loves you." 

"If it wasn't true, he wouldn't have cancelled at all, would he?" 

"That's not fair. He's not putting Gwen above you." 

"Yes, he is." 

"It's just that things are really bad with Sherry at the moment, and he's afraid he's going to lose Gwen, and he has you. He knows that you'll be here." 

"Yes. He does." 

"Things are different this time. He has a job here. He's not going to up and leave." It would be wonderful to have that assurance. She wanted Rory to believe it. "We can thank the economy for that." 

"Maybe." 

"Definitely." 

One more thing she'd always done: made his excuses. 

And she just hoped it wouldn't hurt Rory too much, that Christopher wouldn't flaunt his new, real, fatherhood to her, the way he'd flaunted his existence to Lorelai for all those years where nothing had happened, nothing. 

Christopher was still making her feel wretched, the one thing that had never ever changed, and it had to, and that was true. 

*

She knows the details of things she doesn't dream about, dwelling on them without being aware of it, as she does when she's awake. 

When she's dreaming of playfully obscene suggestions scrawled in his algebra book, and the subsequent acceptance of them, she's remembering why they became friends. Longer than she knew spent trawling the sales racks for something she could afford, and even when he got so bored that he vanished without a word, to reappear without an explanation, there were never any complaints. And she had known that he hadn't had to come, and he had known it too. 

So she dreams of balconies, and cool air and heated skin and the way his face always glows, always more when he's with her; and she remembers the T-shirt she finally chose and the absurdly relieved look on his face when they left the store, and the way his face was unbelievably impossibly bright when they shopped for clothes for Rory, and his smile as they discussed names that she hated. 


	3. More Smoke Than Flame

Author's Note: Warning: Probable reckless disregard of canon. For the Gilmore Girls Improv. 

*

And even though he was back, life carried on. Weeks passed, and there were no amazing revelations, no new feelings to be uncovered, just the same load she'd been carrying for years, the one she hadn't quite managed to drop with the kid. She'd tried, even if she'd never believed; that had to count for something. She had to trust that good intentions counted on the balance sheet of life, because they were the only things that were within her control. 

Life carried her along. It didn't take much effort to stay afloat anymore. She got up, went to work, remembered to eat, watched Rory close herself off more each day, and went to sleep. Began again. Once a week she faced her mother, had to face Chris more often. Had to keep moving, or the gears of the world would crush her. 

Sometimes it was as if they'd reset the clock and erased everything that had gone before. She smiled a lot, lightly, felt warm and dizzy. But more and more it weighed on her, that he hadn't come back to her, that he wasn't here for her. She knew it was a stupid thing to dwell on, but it was always in her head, clamouring for attention. 

So she kept her distance, or tried to, and he seemed to be keeping his. Which didn't do much to advance his cause, whatever that might be. He hadn't asked anything of her yet, but he would, eventually: he always did. Whatever it was that he needed from her, she got to choose whether to give it, and he'd done so much— Not that any of it was his fault. There was no blame to be had. She knew that. Still, it would have been nice to have him need her more, to feel like she had some strength. 

It would have been nice to have more to do than sit and wait, and watch other people shape her world. Watch Christopher run back and forth from here to Sherry, more and more frequently, wonder if one day he wouldn't come back, wonder if this was how Sherry had felt about his trips to see her and Rory. Watch him settle back into life here, with them, with her, feel herself becoming accustomed to that. 

But she didn't, and taking steps to change that would be making an unnecessary fuss, drawing attention to herself and making an issue out of something that wasn't. 

So she got up; worried about Rory; went to work; ate three slices of orange, a sausage roll, and something made of lemon, zucchini, and unidentifiable meat; and returned to the reception desk to find Christopher waiting for her. 

"Hey, you." 

"You, too." 

"Whatcha doin'?" 

"Talking to you. Hey, have you ever spun Rory so much on that chair that she's thrown up?" 

"No. That would not be a motherly thing to do." 

"It'd be fun, though." 

"Yeah. I feel virtuous." 

"You could still do it. She's old enough now that you wouldn't have to feel guilty." 

"Maybe." 

"Just let me watch." 

"What do you want?" 

"To talk." 

"Have at me. Purge, get the bad stuff right out so I can freak and be done with it." 

"It's not bad." 

"Well good." 

"I'm going down to Sherry this weekend." 

"Well have fun." 

"And probably next weekend." 

"Then too." She carefully didn't say: Well maybe you should just stay there and never come back in between the every weekend that you're visiting her. Because that would have been petty and immature. She wasn't even thinking it. 

"I think she might let me bring Gwen back with me for a few days then." 

That threw her. Threw her half across the room, out of her pouting and into the wall. "Wow. That's big." 

"Yeah." 

"It'll be good to see her. Rory will love seeing her. She really wants to get to know her. Sisters, and all." 

"But you don't." 

"No." Lorelai tilted her head, gaze flicking from Chris' carefully quizzical face to his hands flat on the counter, back. So careful, and it wasn't fair of him to have trapped her like this. "I want to get to know her. Of course I do. It's just that we're not, you know, related." 

"And that makes a difference." 

"Well—" 

"Yeah, I suppose it might. But I don't—" He shook his head. "Never mind." 

"That's great news, Chris." She stretched a smile. 

"Good. Ah, what's wrong with Rory? Have I done something to upset her?" 

"I don't know, have you?" 

"Did I ask that?" 

"She's fine. She's always fine. She'll panic and flap about a bit and then go back to normal and we'll all spend a weekend in front of the TV trying to reach a consensus on what all the fuss was about." All four of them, maybe. 

"Okay. Glad we have that fixed up." 

And this was all well and good, but really, nothing had materially changed. He'd still be dragging another woman's child around, and Sherry would be in his life forever, forever, because you couldn't cut it off at eighteen, whatever people said. But it became less important when the child was that old, old enough to separate their parents from each other, from themselves, old enough to understand that what their parents did probably didn't mean a whole hell of a lot when compared to their intentions, or maybe they never understood that. Lorelai was still less important, and Chris might as well have stayed away for all that he'd changed that, for all that their relationship had developed with his return, for all the trouble he was causing, if only in her mind. 

She knew she was being selfish, that she had to separate her and Chris from Rory and Chris, but she couldn't erase herself, couldn't pretend that she wasn't there, that it didn't matter. 

And the worst thing was that she didn't even know if she still wanted him. She didn't know if she wanted him, or if she was being prodded along by bad old habits, the dream of a past that had never really been, and a hole in her life that she was trying to reshape around him, or trying to shove him into, arms and legs flailing out, jigsaw pieces that she was going to snap and destroy with her desire to make a whole. 

It didn't matter, because he was walking away, like he always did, still. Smiling out his friendly parting phrases as he did it, but still doing it. 

She watched him leave, fighting the urge to follow him, to do something, to change things between them. She wanted to run up behind him and slide her arms around him and her chin onto his shoulder and her cheek against his, and his body was so familiar, she knew what that would feel like, could feel it in her bones. He'd grab her hands and turn, and let her cling, let her press into him, and he'd be so warm and so welcoming, always welcoming. She wanted to run up behind him, run out behind him, into the parking lot, turn in the opposite direction, and run. 

*

It's her decision not to get married, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when he leaves. They both know that it's over, know that when she suggests some time apart she's just trying to find a less heartbreaking way of telling him that they're finished, but she doesn't expect him to leave. She doesn't expect her mother's sympathetic look, or the discovery that she's far, far too weak to stick around while it's there; she doesn't expect to be eight months pregnant and hopping the cheapest bus out of Hartford so she'll have enough left of her allowance to make it through a weekend; and she certainly hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it does. She wonders how she'll ever be able to look her parents in the eye again, wonders if she hurt Chris this much. She hadn't intended it, and she wishes she regretted it. 

The third night she has this dream, she begins considering a stronger stimulant than coffee.


	4. In April

I want to marry you, he says. I want to marry you. 

She stares for a moment, sure she's misheard, but he just stares back. She thinks about repeating his words back to him, knows she has when he replies. It's a reply she knows that she's not going to give, even though she wants to. She wants to, and he wants her to, he wants her, and she thinks he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, knowing that he isn't, not really, not even close. 

But he wants her. He wants her with the baby and everything, and not because of it, and she hadn't been sure of either of those things, but she'd hoped. He's glowing through his terror, hoping, and imagining and wanting. She's imagined too. She's wanted, and now she has what she wants. 

So even as her stomach sinks, knowing it's the wrong thing, the worst possible thing, and feeling sick with wanting it, she says yes, even though she's imagined this, even though she knows that it will never happen. She tells him that it will. 

*

Lorelai stared mournfully out the window. She'd told Rory that they would go to the beach today, and she fully intended to do that. The steady drizzle, the encroaching dusk, and Rory's crazy ideas of practicality were all facetious things that should be completely ignored. 

Rory had been saying that she wanted to go to California and see surfers — or maybe Vermont or Maine, wherever it was the Gellars had a house — just because it was something that she would never ever do herself. Lorelai had sworn never to play the Beach Boys again, or encourage Rory to broaden her horizons, but she'd agreed to forsake her comfortable sofa and safe junk-food for messy sand and the dangerous junk-food sold in makeshift huts that probably wouldn't be open now, so really, she'd be starving herself. There wouldn't even be surfers. But Lorelai was hoping that getting slapped in the face with sea breeze and stinging grains of sand would dissuade Rory from the proposed trip. It was their last summer before Rory grew up, and Lorelai wasn't a fan of the beach, especially in California. Too much like nature with models. 

Her gaze focused on a figure waving at her through the glass. Chris, jogging towards the doors. Her mood switched abruptly from self-indulgent mournfulness to real unhappiness. She hadn't seen Chris since he'd returned from his visit to Sherry, and she didn't much want to. 

He spilled into the reception, shaking himself off before he was in, scattering drops of rain. 

"Hey." 

"Hi." He grinned at her, glanced around the empty room. "Are you busy?" 

"Dead." 

"Good." 

"Thanks. I'll be laying myself off soon. Nice that you care." 

"I wanted to talk to you. Can you leave?" 

"Not yet. And I have plans with Rory later. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Can you take a break?" 

"This is not leading me to believe that nothing is wrong. Hold on." 

Lorelai found the new girl, the one who couldn't yet be left alone for more than ten minutes, dumped her behind the desk, ruthlessly ignored her terrified look, and carried Chris off to the restaurant. She glanced out the window again on her way, at the splattered raindrops running down the pane, and thought that it might be a beautiful night for a walk, that it would be wonderful to do something different with Rory, even if it meant getting soaked and catching pneumonia when summer was coming. 

There was one waitress, idly wrapping knives and forks in a corner. Hundreds of wrapped pairs were lying in a huge pile on the table in front of her, more than Lorelai had thought they had. She led the way to the opposite corner. 

"So." Lorelai hated the water from the big jugs, but she poured herself some anyway. She didn't really have time to eat. The sun had set, and she needed to get home soon. She should have had Rory come to the Inn after school. Fifteen minutes until her shift was over. 

"Hi." 

"We've done this." 

"Yeah." He leant forward, hands smoothing out the tablecloth, studying the wrinkles in the linen and glancing up at her uncertainly. He said, "I want to marry you."

He couldn't have said that. She couldn't have heard that. Not really, not out loud. She'd wandered into a waking dream. It always felt like that after a certain sort of rain, when the world was so sharply defined that she thought it couldn't be real, that she'd changed, that everything had. When everything was so sharp she thought she'd cut herself on the blades of grass, the edges of leaves, edges of air. 

But she was indoors, and it was still raining, and warmth was spreading through her chest. "What?" 

"I want to marry you. Ball and chain, next great adventure—" 

"That's death." 

She thought for a moment that she had to be dreaming. There could be no other explanation. No other acceptable explanation. 

"That's the last great adventure. The greatest. Are you planning to kill me?" 

"It's quite possible." 

"It'd be a pity, after all this time." 

"Straw that broke the—" She couldn't finish. She felt glazed, dipped in sticky varnish, and hardening. "Marry you," she said. "You think that I should marry you." 

"I want you to marry me." 

"Why? Why would I do such a thing?" 

"Because you love me? You do love me, don't you?" 

"Why on earth would you think this is a good idea?" 

"I think we could make it work, you—" 

"How dare you?" 

She was shaking, and it was rage, but it was also shock and terror and other things that were too fleeting to identify. She thought her heart was going to fail; it was beating so fast and strong that it had to collapse. Her heart would collapse and her blood would surge, and strings cut, she'd fall. 

"How dare I? I didn't think it was that big a leap, really. I didn't think it required that much daring." 

"You just thought I'd accept." 

His surprise had passed; now apologeticness was warring with frustration. "No—" 

"Yes." 

"Maybe. The signs seemed to be pointing that way." 

She couldn't let him rationalise his way out of this. "The signs. You know, I can't deny that there have been signs. There have been very clear signs of exactly how much you've messed me up over the years, how much you're still messing with my mind. You really know how to leave your mark, Chris. And I told you, I told you not to do this to me again." 

She was angrier than she thought she had a right to be, but it was true, it was. He always did this to her. 

The fork he'd been toying with hit his empty wineglass with a ting, and the music floated briefly in the air, before he broke in on it. 

"You know, I really can't do anything about the imaginary version of me you have in your head. That's not my fault." 

"It's not imaginary, Chris." 

"I don't know what you expect from me." 

"Or maybe it is, because the other one, the one I thought you were, sure as hell isn't here." 

"That's what I—" 

"And I can't deal with this. I can't deal with you anymore. I told you." 

"I wasn't aware I was acting in—" 

"Well you are. I told you, and you still are. This isn't working. It never will." The anger was fading, leaving exhaustion and a seeping pain that was too familiar, too intimate, residing in her bones, making her ache. This had to stop, it had to leave, and she would make it. She could. 

"There's nothing to work. And you've just said there won't be anything, so—" 

"You have no right to do this to me. You have no right." 

"After all these years I thought I'd earned some sort of right—" 

"You haven't. You really haven't, Chris. Especially not when you have another me waiting for you in another city. Maybe you should just try to work things out with her, because—" 

"I'm sorry I exist when you're not around, Lorelai. I can't help it." He took a shaky breath, obviously reigning in his temper, calming himself and settling in for a discussion. "Please, be reason—" 

"I think you should leave." 

He looked like he was going to argue, but his jaw tightened and he swallowed the fight brewing behind his eyes. "Fine." 

"I don't want you to come by here anymore." 

His chair hit the floor. "Fine." 

She watched him storm out, wondering whether it would be better if she wanted to call him back. After a few minutes, she made her way back to the reception desk. The girl was fine, because nobody had come in. Lorelai sent her back to cleaning, and wandered over to the window again. She wanted to leave. 

It was hard to believe that Chris wouldn't be showing up anymore, out of the blue, out of the rain, asking for her. But there had to be a change. No more dreams. 

She waited patiently to be relieved, watching the sky darken, flood with deep velvet-blue, even as the rain stopped. 


	5. A Raised Eyebrow

It was three weeks later when she called him for help. He said he'd come over immediately, even though she'd been completely incoherent on the phone and he couldn't have any idea what was wrong. 

Lorelai couldn't spare the time for thankfulness: she was too busy staring at Rory's closed bedroom door. 

When the knock came, she bolted to answer it, aching for relief. Chris was holding a little ball of fluffy purple cloth to his chest. There was a bag slung over his shoulder, and she reached for it automatically as he swept past her. 

"Where is she? What's the matter?" 

"Nothing's— She's fine. She's in her bedroom." 

"What's going on?" 

"I didn't know you had Gwen." 

"I couldn't think of anybody to leave her with at such short notice. What's happening, Lorelai?" 

"She says she's gay." 

He stopped. Stared. "And that's a disaster?" 

"No! No. I just didn't know what to do. I couldn't think what— And now she won't come out and she won't let me in, and I don't know what to do." 

"Hold on. Here." Lorelai dropped the bag and her arms came up, instinctively forming a cradle for the baby. She hadn't done it in years, but it wasn't something you forgot. 

"You look after her and I'll go and see if I can get Rory to come out." 

Lorelai wanted to protest at being left holding the baby, but Chris was hurrying away and she didn't want to keep him from Rory. She watched him disappear and turned her attention to her bundle. 

She thought: This is another woman's child. But she felt it to be Chris'. And Sherry had been willing to do this with Rory, but Sherry was something Lorelai wasn't. 

As she stared at the baby's face, old enough now to display personality, she could sense that certainty slipping through her fingers, with not a thing to mark its passing; just Gwen's steady gurgle, like water bubbling over rock, and soon she'd be babbling like that too. That was soon, now. Lorelai was old enough for that to be soon. 

She settled down on the couch to wait for Chris to return; and she was old enough to have accepted the elasticity of time: she knew she'd be waiting forever. 

She flicked on the television for show, too distracted to pay it any attention. Gwen wasn't hers, had nothing to do with her, and she half resented Chris bringing her here, forcing her on Lorelai. Couldn't quite. 

Lorelai had heard stories about fathers and grandparents who'd had unplanned pregnancies thrust upon them, and hadn't taken the news well. When the baby came, legend said, it only took one trip to the hospital. Then they fell in love, and never looked back. Lorelai sometimes wondered how her parents would have reacted if she'd stuck around, forced them to take that trip to the hospital. She wondered if things would have been better. She didn't think they could love Rory more, but she wondered if they would have loved her, forgiven her. 

But Lorelai wasn't sure if these stories were true, because all things being equal, she should be tumbling head over heels right now, and she wasn't, not really. It was just that Gwen was Chris', and she'd always loved everything about Chris. 

Forever hadn't passed when he came back, but it was close enough. He was alone. 

"She's asleep." 

Lorelai stood, handing Gwen over quickly before realising that if Rory was asleep there was nothing she could do. She stopped, waited, twisting her hands anxiously. "What did she say?" 

"She's upset." He busied himself with Gwen, doing daddy things. Lorelai had always thought of them as mommy things. "She thinks you're angry with her." 

"I'm not— I'm not angry. I— She should know better than that. I just panicked." 

"I know. That's what I told her. Still, she was attempting to cry herself to sleep when I got here. You should probably set her straight on that in the morning." 

Lorelai wanted to tell him that he wasn't qualified to give parenting advice, wanted to tell him she didn't need any, but tonight had proved her wrong on at least one count. She kept her mouth shut. 

After a few moments of silence, Chris held out Gwen. "Here." 

Lorelai shied away. "No," she murmured. The adrenaline had faded. 

Chris sighed. "Will you hand me a bottle then?" Left pocket." 

She found it easily and settled back to watch. He wasn't quite expert, but he was getting there. 

"So that's unexpected, huh? Even for you, I mean. It's not just me not having a clue what's going on in Rory's life." 

"It's not just you." Lorelai was drowsy, her heavy head melting into the cushion it was resting on. 

"That's something. I'd never even heard of this girl, I don't think." 

"Paris? Oh, I'm sure you had. Had to've. It was really just her and Lane." 

"That's another thing. Why doesn't Rory have more friends?" 

"She has friends. She just takes friendship very seriously. Too seriously, apparently. She's had two boyfriends. Perfectly—" 

"What?" 

"Normal. Perfectly healthy." 

She was on the verge of a freak-out, too many things she couldn't deal with under one roof, but despite her sadness and even after that whole scene, things were so not-awkward that she couldn't help herself. Chris was so easy, so fresh and capable, and Lorelai had to be capable beneath the bewilderment and fear. With a little support she could cope with this, and she had to be able to cope. So she couldn't help herself. 

Her mouth was open and words were pouring out, and she couldn't stop them, even though she wanted to. God, she wanted to. "I don't understand. I mean, I want her to be happy. I do. But I don't understand it. I don't understand her at all." And she couldn't look at Chris, so she lay down on the couch and turned her face into the cushion and wished that crying herself to sleep was an option. 

"Well. You don't have to understand. I suppose— I can see how that would be hard. You just have to accept." 

Lorelai was good at accepting difficult things. She just hadn't expected Rory to be difficult. "I can do that. I just, I need you to do it first and I need you to show me how because I don't know. I don't know what to do." 

"You'll do okay. Fast learner. It'll be fine." 

"Mmm." Lorelai was drifting into sleep, struggling to finish the conversation but not willing to stay awake, wanting to blank it out for a few hours. "But you have to stay and show me, otherwise…" When her eyes blinked open again, Chris had moved. "I can't do it again. I can't do tonight." 

When she woke up, the sun was sliding under the door. She felt groggy and disoriented, and she was sure there were red marks on her face. She stumbled to the shower, and out of it when it was done, hoping it had made some difference to body if not to mind. 

And when she reached her bedroom, Gwen was asleep in a car-seat on the floor, and Chris was asleep in her bed. 


	6. Mile By Mile

Author's Note: For the Gilmore Girls Improv. 

*

Lorelai was never quite sure how she found herself sitting in a park with Chris and Gwen and Rory and Paris the next weekend. She wasn't displeased. She just wasn't sure how it happened. 

It was a beautiful day: the sun was beaming down, fluffy white clouds floated lazily in the Crayola sky, invisible birds chirped sweetly. Lorelai wasn't in the mood for any of it. 

Rory and Paris were sitting together under a tree, shaded by its giant boughs, the sun snaking through the leaves to dapple the grass. Rory was carefully plucking the petals from a daisy. They made a pretty picture. Lorelai was trying not to stare. 

Chris was sprawled beside her, playing with Gwen's fingers and toes. Gwen wasn't really old enough to be played with yet, but he was trying. 

He wasn't doing anything interesting enough to hold her attention for long, and her attention drifted back to the couple under the tree. 

It might have taken her a few seconds to realise he'd said something. "Hmm?" 

"My parents are arriving on Friday." 

"What?" 

"I told you they were coming." 

Lorelai blinked at him. "You did no such thing." 

"You need to listen to what I'm saying more often." 

"Maybe you need to say more things worth listening to. And anyway, you did not say this." 

"Maybe I need to keep my mouth shut around you." 

"I tell people that all the time. Friday?" 

"Yeah. I won't have Gwen, so they're talking about going to see Sherry." 

"Do they want to see Rory?" 

He went back to Gwen's toes. "I don't know. They should." 

"That means no, right?" 

"Yes. But they should see her. I want them to." 

"That's really not a good idea." 

"You don't know that." 

"You don't know what the last time was like. Your parents make my parents look like the Camdens." 

He paused. "I can't figure out who you're insulting." 

"I'm equal opportunity." Her fingers brushed his. She realised she'd dropped to an elbow and grabbed a toe too, stared blankly for a moment, then pulled her hand away. "She's not going to see them." 

"Why don't we let her decide that?" 

Anger building from unhappiness, she sat up, glared at nothing. "Especially not with—" 

Chris' trousers brushed her bare arm as he stood. "You can't even say it." 

His fists were clenched. She concentrated on his knuckles, showing white. "She hasn't even told my parents yet." 

"You can't even say it. You're in no position to decide who she should tell." 

He walked away, towards Rory, leaving her with Gwen. Old habits, hard to break, but not something she felt like cutting slack over. If Gwen were her daughter, maybe nothing at all would have changed. She wasn't sure what had. All certainty gone, Lorelai looked to the baby for commiseration. Gwen kicked the air decisively, and gurgled happily, pleased with her achievement. 

Laughter rang out. Under the tree, Rory was gazing at her father in delight as he dropped down beside her. His mouth was moving, but Lorelai couldn't hear any sound. She could see Rory's smile widen. 

On the first summer's day, Lorelai wished for rain, so she wouldn't have to watch. 

*

Nobody was there when Lorelai arrived, and she hadn't thought to bring Rory's key, so she had to wait on the front steps. 

The time should have cooled her down, but by the time Chris got home she was even more furious. She'd descended the steps and was at his car before he'd opened the door, yelling before he could hear her. "I told you! I knew this was a bad idea, Chris, and you never listen to me and it was a disaster, ship meet ice-cap, and what were you thinking?" 

Lorelai hadn't been invited to the dinner, so it was almost a surprise to see him without Gwen. It was a relief: she hadn't been thinking, didn't know what she'd do if he had her. But it didn't matter now. 

"There was no way I could have known—" 

"Yes, you could! I told you. You just ignored me, and you let them hurt Rory, Chris—" 

"They're my parents, all right? I love them. I don't expect them to do things like that. Just because you're estranged from your parents and have completely demonised them doesn't give you—" 

"That's unfair. That's so unfair." 

"It's true. You may not like it, and you may not like them, but it's the truth. You think you're doing it for Rory's benefit, and maybe you are, but it's not right and it's not working, and now you're doing it to me. And you know, you are right, Lorelai. It's not fair." 

He took two steps past her before she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 

"You have no right to tell me what's fair! You have no idea, Chris, none! You haven't been here, you haven't had to look after Rory and protect her, and had to shield her from things like that every damn day of her life. You—" 

"I know, Lor. I know that. But I did it tonight. I did everything I could tonight, and you have to accept that. I'm sorry if it wasn't good enough, and I'm sorry if Rory's upset, and I'm sorry I've upset you by coming back, but you're going to have to accept it. I can't fix whatever you think I've broken, I can only work with what's left. If I've hurt you again I'm sorry about that too, but there's nothing I can do about it now, and even if you won't give me the chance to change things between us, I'm doing that with Rory, and it's time for you to move on, Lorelai. You can't keep beating up on me over things that happened years ago, and you're just hurting yourself by holding onto it." 

He shook his head, backed away. He didn't stop until he'd gotten the front door open. "I love you, you know? I never thought you'd be this bitter." 

And that was unfair too. Lorelai wanted to protest, but her voice was frozen in her open mouth, no possibility of saying anything, no attempt. Because he loved her, and she'd always loved him, always. She couldn't disagree with him, and she couldn't tell him it didn't matter. She couldn't say a word, so she just let him go. 


	7. Less Tears Than Rain

"You know," she said, "there used to be a Wonder Woman universe where they were all lesbians." 

Rory frowned. "There did not." 

"Too." 

"I know you just made that up, because you wouldn't know if it had happened. You don't read comics." 

"It did, though." 

"You don't need to talk about lesbians anymore." 

"Am I not allowed to?" 

"It's just a bit— Let's do something." 

"Let's see the Matrix again. Hey, we should see it in Europe too. It'll probably be dubbed there and Keanu hardly speaks English anyway, so—" 

"About that." 

"The Matrix? You want to see something else?" 

"No. Europe. I was, uh, thinking that I wasn't going to go." 

"You're—" 

"Well, see, Paris said I could go with her when she—" 

"Oh, I see. Fine." 

"Mom." 

"No, it's fine. I mean, it's not like— I'll still see you." 

"Of course you will, Mom. I just want—" 

"I know. I'd do the same thing in your place." 

"You didn't really want to spend the whole summer with me anyway." 

"Oh, no. Why on earth would I?" 

"Just what I said to myself. And you don't want to spend the whole summer away from your friends." 

"God forbid I deny them access to my scintillating self." 

"Dad's going to Florida soon. You should go with." 

"Eh." 

"Why not? You'd love it." 

"Florida, possibly." 

"But not Dad?" 

"It's not that I don't love him, it's that my stress level does not love the time I spend with him." 

Rory rolled her eyes. "He's not stressful. How is he stressful?" 

"I don't know. And he's not stressful for you, sure." 

"Actually, you know, he really can be. But not now." 

"Now being the present. You have to look at the past and remember that there's a future." 

"Exactly. You have to remember that. Just think about it, okay? You need a holiday." 

Lorelai agreed to think about it, and Rory left her alone, satisfied. 

Summer rolled into town, and Lorelai hadn't expected it to look this way. Rory was going away with Paris, and Lorelai wasn't getting her last summer after all, because people change while your back is turned and Rory had grown up already. Chris settled in Hartford, something she'd given up hope of a long time ago, and a baby around. Chris being around for Rory, something that had never happened before, ever. 

And then there were the things that hadn't changed. Chris was still too careless for words, to careless for safety, for comfort; and he still wanted to marry her. He'd always wanted to marry her, but she'd never been ready. These were things that might never change. 

She'd always known that. She'd always known what Chris was like, how things were. She'd just never been able to accept it. She'd never been able to forgive him for being everything she loved without being everything she wanted. And he was right; she had to. 

A week after Rory graduated, Chris came over to pick Rory and Paris up. He was dropping Gwen back to Sherry and then taking them down to Vermont. He'd be gone for three days. Lorelai didn't have to remind herself that he'd be back. 


	8. Neither Here Nor There

Author's Note: As of now, this is complete. I may revise it in the future, but then again, I may not. Thanks to everybody who's ever had a kind word for this story. 

*

Three days later, Lorelai was sitting on Chris' front steps again, waiting for him to return. Her nerve vanished after a while, but she couldn't bring herself to get up and leave. She couldn't do that; it seemed a decision far more final than this one. 

She'd been there an hour when his car pulled into the driveway. It was still an awful car, with mysterious noises and non-functioning air-conditioning. She wondered if he had anything to drink. Preferably alcoholic, but water would do, in a pinch. 

He climbed out of the car, squinting at her. "Hey." Hoisting the rucksack that had been inhabiting the passenger seat over his shoulder, he started towards her. "What are you doing here?" 

"Wanted to see you." 

"Well I guessed that. Why?" 

She took a shallow breath, had to take another to keep breathing, and pushed her sticky hair off her forehead. 

She meant to say something about forgetting, but what came out was, "Do you remember when I first came to Stars Hollow?" 

The bag slid down his arm, thudded to the ground, and he sat down beside her. "I remember when you left Hartford." 

"I was so scared. So young, somewhere I didn't know, with no friends. I'd never been alone before. But I was more afraid of staying. Do you think I did the right thing?" 

"I don't know. I don't know what would have happened. Maybe. It's pointless to wonder." 

"I'm not— I wasn't going to marry you. And I'm still not." 

"You know, I got that." 

"But I'm not running away." 

He was still as the air after she said it, and it would be worse than this in Florida, wouldn't it? 

"Oh." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, oh." 

His eyes were travelling over her face, trying to gauge her, and she had to smile, because he'd always been so terrible at that. 

"Good. Don't think this means I'm being nice to your parents, though." 

"Would I think that?" 

"Or going to Florida. I've been there, and it's nothing major. I had a trip to Europe planned this summer, and—" 

He cut her off with a kiss. And before she stopped thinking, she remembered that new places weren't that bad after all. They'd find one. 


End file.
